Out Of Nowhere

So I sat down yesterday in my current fave writing spot (the Tea Lounge on Court Street) and started working on this story that's been ambling along for months now. I was actually just sort of free writing, half listening to the guy sitting on the sofa next to me as he chatted with his girlfriend, when all of the sudden the words just started pouring out of me. I started to tell R about it when I got home later that night but something stopped me. I don't know. I felt kind of superstitious about it--like maybe if I talked about the story itself it'd take some of the momentum out of it. Deflate it in some way.